


Venery And Stars

by grakkuk



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Bounty Hunter Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Bounty Hunters, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Senitive Pilot GeorgeNotFound, Force sensitive GeorgeNotFound, LAR-404, LAR-404 MY BELOVED, LARRY MY BELOVED, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pilot GeorgeNotFound, Scavenger GeorgeNotFound, Slow Burn, Spaceships, Thief GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Thief Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grakkuk/pseuds/grakkuk
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.Scavenger, force-sensitive pilot George sets off on a mission to find and retrieve his best friend Sapnap, who after getting himself into some rough business with the wrong people finds himself frozen solid in carbonite.Dream is a bounty hunter, and George and Sapnap have cash on their heads. He tracks them across the galaxy, chasing starships, on-foot trails, and possibly George's heart.But war is rising in the Galaxy, tension is thick between the empire and the alliance, and soon enough, everyone has to choose a side.VENERY- Noun|Meaning: The art, act, or practice of hunting; the sports of the chase.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 54
Kudos: 141





	1. Crashes And Contacts

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Venery and stars.
> 
> All wonderful art is made by none other than my dear friend @Z01N_ on Twitter and @ zoin.arts on Instagram, she's very cool. Thank you for keeping me motivated Zoin I haven't given up on this yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crashes, burns and “who the fuck are you?”

George closes his eyes and ignores the snapping of his ship wing, he blocks off the noise of the roaring pressure as he enters the planets atmosphere at a high speed, he ignores the overwhelming heat of friction that stings his skin and chars the edges of his jacket sleeves, he ignores the screeching alarm that beeps red on his control panel as it warns him on his close approaching distant to the ground.

The energy around him is buzzing in anticipation, it begs and pulls at George’s hands like an impatient kid that wants to be followed. It wants to show him.

George takes a deep breath, inhaling the smoke and the scent of burning fuel. He finds himself completely calm, despite being shot down over Tatooine by what George has assumed to be another bounty hunters ship that’s chasing for the cash on his head.

He can feel the energy begin to tingle on his fingertips, he feels a strong pull at his chest and a comforting familiar rub on his temples. Another deep breath, another long exhale and soon enough George's whole ship is buzzing too; a force envelopes his entire craft with a gentle, soothing hug as he crashes into the sandy planet dunes.

“Shit.” He mumbles when he finally opens his eyes, squinting at the searing suns that were just beginning to dip below the horizon. His shoulder and neck stung and ached with what felt like blistering burns. His use of the force had saved his life and the most part of his borrowed ship, but he had still been injured in the fast, fiery plummet toward the surface. There was nothing to be done about it now though, George was mainly just relatively glad he wasn’t burnt to a crisp and that his ship was still roughly in one piece.

Despite the cooling air of nightfall, George could still feel the old-day heat radiating off the sand below his long leather boots as he trudged through the dunes. He knew he would have to start picking up his pace soon —the Bounty Hunter had landed his own craft not long after George’s had crashed— and he knows it won’t take him long to figure out that George actually wasn’t as dead as he seemed.

But George was injured, and each unsteady step towards the distant glowing of the tavern made him hiss in agony and sent pain shooting like fireworks straight up his spine, exploding right in his burnt shoulder. 

_For Sapnap. He’s doing this for Sapnap_. George reminds himself as he takes a few more wincing steps forwards and begins to walk a little faster along the dip in two sand hills he had set his path between to avoid being spotted by onlooking eyes. He had to complete his mission, he had to save his friend. 

—————————

George was so close, perhaps an hour or so away from the tavern that holds his buddy, there he could sit down and lay low until it was the right time to free him, meet a few people and bargain for medical supplies and food.

His Mission was to hang around in the dusty bar and pick up on gossip regarding the empire from locals or empirical insiders that drop in for a drink or two, or to gawk at the showgirls that strut and dance about the waxed dance floor, swinging around poles with chains that feed from their necks and right into jabba the hutt's slimy fat hands. 

George would then feed this information back to the rebel alliance in return for ship repairs or new supplies that would keep him busy and on his feet until the next favour was asked. However, George hadn’t just come to Tatooine to do the rebels small work, he had his own business to take care of.

Sapnap was George's best and absolute friend, they were scavengers mostly, finding, stealing and selling things they pick up in their journeys, ranging from scrap metal parts of ships or old bits of wiring to precious jewels and saber crystals that glimmer like stars. The only unfortunate part of these jobs were that sometimes you might steal something a little too valuable from people that are more powerful than you first expect, all of which Sapnap had done.

In all fairness, how was Sapnap supposed to know that a clear, amber stone looking thing had been a fire source gem? A sort of elemental stone that had been one particularly rich mans prize possession. 

Sapnap figured it out pretty soon after taking it though, he’d had the thing threaded onto a necklace that dangled loosely around his neck, and had quickly discovered that when trying to break a fall with your arms outstretched whilst wearing the amber pendant, it might cause long streams of fire to tear from your fingertips and scorch marks into the earthy floor beneath you.

George smiles faintly at the memory. 

_The day is sunny and warm, with a faint cool breeze that ruffles up sapnaps long raven hair that he’d tied up with a white cotton ribbon, away from the small beads of sweat that littered the back of his tan, slightly sunburnt neck._

_He remembers the faint sound of trickling water from a small stream, snaking in cold paths down the mountains that steep high over the lower land, towering over it with a promise of safety and protection, like purposeful kings over a kingdom whose beauty was its old age and old lasting security._

_They sit with their bare feet dipped in the icy water, fish swim around and tickle their toes as they pass by, darting between strands of yellow and pink algae. Slow currents cause the water to swirl in little whirlpools around them, it was a pleasantly calming change compared to the heated rush of their everyday jobs, running around and shooting round corners like skittish dogs._

_Coarse grass whips past Georges legs as he chases after Sapnap, playful yells echoing and bouncing off the rocks and the trees. George takes a deep breath and inhales the scent of honeysuckle flowers and dirt, he remembers hearing a distant shout before a thundering crash shakes the ground beneath his feet, he remembers the wave of sudden heat and the smoke, the burning orange flames that lapped up the trunks of the once green trees, consuming their luscious leaves and coating them in dust and crumbling black ash._

_Sapnap steps out from between the quickly dying fire, his dark eyes round with shock and his mouth dropped open as he gawks down at the pendant that drops from his hand and now sways slowly by his chest._

_Sun. That was George's first thought, the stone no longer looked at all like a stone but now more closely resembled that of a glowing orb of bright amber light, like a small portable star._

_Sapnap had found a source stone._

George had missed his friend so much since he’d gone- he missed their silly arm punches and obnoxious comments. He misses their morning swims in deep green planet lakes, the rush of adrenaline they share as they skidd round corners and sharp bends, bullets that whizz past and just barely miss their ears.

The previous fire stone owner had sent bounty hunters after Sapnap and George and had succeeded in catching them after a long chase through the tall pines on Endor. Sapnap had been frozen in carbonite by the furious owner, and after weeks of George trying to steal the stone back and keep track of where Sapnaps frozen statue was being moved around and sold, he had finally nearly succeeded in both. 

The fire stone was tucked safely into one of the inside pockets of his old-worn brown leather jacket, right beside the pistol that hung from his weapon belt over a pair of faded black jeans and a rather dirty looking blue shirt. 

Sapnap was close now too, George didn’t know his exact location yet, but after a few nights of lurking around and gossiping with the barmen, he was sure he’d stumble across his frozen buddy soon enough.

————————

Tatooine’s first sun had finally set, the planet's sky was now significantly darker than before and the air no longer held its usual stuffy, warm personality but instead had a cool undertone that smelled faintly of cocktails and fresh fruit.

Jabas' fortress stood only metres away, George doesn’t knock or ring the buzzer for an entry request, he pulls out a small chip from his jacket pocket and places it carefully between two stray wires on the keypad. The numbers on the small screen flicker for a few moments, it sparks and hums before it emits a quiet pop, and the doors of the club slide slowly open to allow George to slip silently inside. 

He moves like a shadow between corners, flitting and sliding into dark crevices. It’s a skill he’s picked up from his occupation of burglary, who knew that always hiding and being on the run might actually have a better chance of saving your life then taking it.

Humming jazz music drifts through the stone archway that lays at the end of the corridor, it echoes on the walls and helps cover the noise of his footsteps. George can feel the vibrations of it as they reach his force sensitive fingertips, it makes him slightly fuzzy in the head.

He shakes off the feeling of dizziness and pulls out a small flask from his belt, the bottle lid pops open. He brings the metal flask against his chapped lips and takes a small sip, letting the cool water slip down his dry throat. 

Soon, he would step into the tavern bar room and be among the many other galactic criminals that come here to barter or sell black market goods. With all the stolen information that’s passed around these kinds of places George knows it won’t be particularly difficult to find out exactly where abouts in the tavern Sapnap is being kept.

His footsteps are quiet, but strong and steady and never careless. George weaves his way through dancers and teasing ladies, flashes of gold and crimson blood red dart past his vision. The girls faces are all flushed a deep shade of cherry soda pink. George can feel the energy around him fizz, he suppresses a shudder, it makes him jittery to the core.

Battered and chipped wooden tables line the edges of the bar and dance floor. George spots a group of Tatooines huddled around one, paper and pens sprawled carelessly across the table, all of them each whispering in fast languages and in hushed voices. That’s what George wants, he needs to wriggle his way into one of those conversations and drink up the secretive words that ooze between their chapped lips and dry, sun damaged skin.

But he can’t do it yet, waltzing straight into the bar and pushing himself into a conversation would be far too obvious and far too risky. He would do it subtly, order a few drinks and start to chat with the locals, tell them stories and get them to introduce him to their friends. It should only take an hour or so, leaving plenty of time to meet his contact later and run through their plans.

George straightens his shoulders and reaches into his pocket, he pulls out a pair of old flight goggles and slips them over his face. They make his face itch terribly, but at least if the bounty hunter came in he’d have a better chance of not being recognised.

“You gonna stand there all day kid, or are ya gonna order a drink?”

The barman is short, shorter than George, his hair is deep brownish red and his eyes blaze in a swirling pale yellow. If George was staying longer, and if he found himself curious enough, he might have asked why they swirled around in circles like stirred honey. But he wasn’t, and although he was slightly intrigued by the man's odd appearance he didn’t quite care enough, George had better things to do.

He carefully pulls out a small handful of tokens and slides a few of them across the counter, pointing to a bottle of brew in the corner of the drink cabinet. Luckily the man didn’t ask questions, the payment and the lack of fighting seemed to satisfy him enough.

George relaxes into the barstool and glances at his watch screen, he silently curses when he sees the crack that snakes it way across the glass. It had been new too, only last month he’d pick-pocketed it from a traveler on Naboo. It had been top quality and completely weatherproof, withstanding the freezing temperatures on Hoth and the scorching fires on Mustafar. 

George let out a huff of frustration, it must’ve been damaged in his bumpy landing, falling victim to the fall along with his poor shoulder. 

He taps the watch a few times, the screen stays blank and unresponsive.

He bangs his wrist in the table and winces as his shoulder stings, but then the hiss of pain turns into a sigh of relief as he watches the screen on his wrist flicker and turn blue, must’ve knocked some sense into the damn thing after all. It had most of the information on it regarding Sapnap’s rescue and the information about his contact, he would’ve been utterly and totally screwed if it had decided to fuck him over.

The bar man returns with a bottle and a glass, he scoops the tokens into his hand and counts them before giving George a small nod and placing them into the cash register. George swirls around in his seat and brings the bottle to his lips, it’s slightly bitter and mostly tasteless, but it’s cold and sends a much needed chill through his hot, aching body, so he continues to drink it without complaint.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts before.” 

George glances up at the boy who speaks, his tousled mousy hair curls around his ears, and a small plait hangs on the left of his face.

“You’re right on that one,” George says as he re-ajusts his posture, “I wouldn’t say I’m new round the area though, but in this bar? Yes.” 

The boy raises an eyebrow and runs his green-flecked-grey eyes over Georges figure. He hums and leans against the bar, “Why do I get the feeling that you’re gonna be trouble?”

George grins, “Maybe you’re right, what if I am?” He leans closer, “You like trouble?” 

“Ha!” The boy scoffs and kicks the chair lightly when he laughs, “I like you, you’re funny. Whats your name flattering stranger?” 

“You can call me 404, and you?” He reaches out to shake the mousy haired strangers hand, who takes it with a warm smile.

“Karlos, but you can call just call me Karl, skip the formalities. My friends would like you, you wanna come sit with us?” 

Karl looks over his shoulder and nods towards a table of squabbling boys, the very table George had been eyeing earlier that had papers scattered across the surface. This was his chance, his perfect opening for information.

He nods and smiles at karl, “Sure, can I buy you a drink first?” 

Karl chuckles but shakes his head, “Already got one my guy, but maybe later I’ll take you up on that offer.”

——————————

Karl was right, his friends did seem to take easily to George, they laugh at his jokes and tease him playfully on his funny accent, patting him firmly on the back when he offers to buy them their next round.

“Me and Karl met when we were sixteen,” A boy with dark hair explains, swiping a loose strand under his beanie. “He saved my life really, brought me in after I got kicked out. I’ll love him eternally, I owe him and the alliance so much after what they’ve done for me.” He flashes Karl a warm smile, but seems to notice his mistake when Karl only stares back at him with terror deep in his eyes.

A small but weighted silence suddenly hangs heavily in the air. He had fucked up there, let slip something he shouldn’t have. The beanie guy visibly gulps.

“Quackity you absolute nimrod!” Karl hisses in a hushed breath, “You can’t give away information like that in front of people we just met! You saw that guy in the hallway, Goddamn man’s frozen in rock. Do you want us to end up like him?” 

George’s heart nearly explodes in his chest right then and there, he wants to grab Karl’s shoulders and shake him so he tells him everything as fast as he can. But no, George takes a deep breath, he needs to keep calm and keep up his act as a clueless traveler for as long as possible if he wants to get anywhere with these guys.

“Alliance?” George lowers his voice to a whisper, the last thing he wants is for Karl to get scared and run away. 

Karl’s eyes widen and he looks helplessly at Quackity, “I-I did we say alliance? No you must’ve heard wrong,” he stutters over his words and George can practically see the cogs turning rapidly in his head as he stumbles over his own thoughts. “We meant-erm, Balliath? It’s- It’s my brothers name, he helped.”

George almost laughs, they really couldn’t be anymore obvious if they tried. “Look,” George leans closer till his nose is nearly in line with Karl’s, “I don’t give a shit what side you’re on,” He dips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a handful of tokens and pushes them toward Karl, who’s eyes widen at the large amount of gleaming gold cash. “Just tell me about the stone guy, where did you see him? What way’s the room?” 

George watches Karl slip the tokens into his pocket,“O-oh, the guy? He’s further into the tavern, literally looks like part of the wall. It's really creepy. Why, do you know him?”

If they worked for the resistance then George didn’t want them knowing too much about his separate plans. After all, he was sent here to gather information on the empire, not to rescue his best friend. Who knows what sneaky stunt they’d pull if they found out he’d veered away from what they’d paid him good money to do. 

“I might, I might not. What’s it to you? I’ve given you that cash to keep your mouth shut,” he watches Karl’s eyes widen as he presses the front of his blaster to Karl’s stomach, hidden from the rest of the group by the table. “So you better do it.”

Quackity, being the only other one paying attention to Karl and George's conversation, seems to catch on, and the boys frantically nod. 

“Yes, yes we promise,” Karl looks hesitantly around at the rest of his friends to see if they notice, his eyes finally land on Quackity who nods again in desperate agreement. 

“We promise, mouths are zipped, we’ll take the cash.”

With a sigh of relief, George removes his gun and places it back into his belt. He shoots Karl an apologetic smile. He may not trust either side of the war, but he does feel bad about threatening Karl, they’d helped him after all.

“I’m sorry, it’s an instinct. I like to make sure the people I meet aren’t going to go around leaking my personal business.”

At this, both boys seem to relax back into their chairs, but George can see the curiosity blooming in their eyes. 

Karl speaks first, he wiggles in his seat and plays nervously with his fingers, “So the stone guy, if you don’t mind me asking, do you know him?”

George looks around hesitantly and leans in closer. His mouth is brought into a faint smile, “Yeah I knew him, he’s my best friend. Me and him got into some rough business a while back,” He slips his hand into his pocket and curls his fingers around the comfortingly warm stone. Fuck he misses him. “It didn’t end so well, dumb idiot got himself frozen in carbonite.”

Quackity whinces, “Are you here to get him out?” 

How much can he really tell these people? They seemed nice enough. They may have sworn secrecy from the alliance, but how did George know they wouldn’t go telling someone else?

Karl must’ve spotted Georges hesitation because in an instant he’s covering one of Georges hands with his own and whispering soft reassurances to him.

George wonders why they want to know so much.

“We promise 404, we’ve already promised. Snitches get stitches right?” 

George seems content with that promise, “Right, okay yes, I’m here to break him out. I’ve been tracking his movement since they took him and it brought me here.” George didn’t mention anything about his Rebellion mission, he would tell them about Sapnap because they seemed like they could help him. But he wasn’t about to go spilling all his secrets to them the day they met.

“But I didn’t know his exact location till a moment ago, so I have you two to thank for that.” George takes another sip of his cold brew and nods at Karl and Quackity. 

George is about to open his mouth again and ask the boys more details about Sapnaps statue, but a sudden warm breeze of air hits his face and ruffles up his hair. The door to the tavern swings open.

A figure stands in the doorway, he’s dressed head to toe in dark muddy green and brown, a small cape drapes over one of his shoulders and falls around his face. He has dark, thick boots that wrap up his ankles and round his lower calf. He’s covered in weapons, gun belts, knife holders and ammunition pouches hide most of his torso from view. It sends a small wave of shivers through George, he knows who this is.

But it’s the mask, it’s the mask that really makes George quickly glance away and lower his head from view, it’s a dirty off putting white, with two slightly slanted eye holes and a eerie smile scratched below. George can’t tell if the bounty hunters looking right at him or right away. So he brings his hands to his face and re-adjusts his goggles so that they sit safely covering his eyes.

Everyone is Silent. They’re all looking at wide eyes at the masked man, who shakes off their burning gazes with ease and closes the door behind him.

The wave of warm air stops.

George hisses a few curses under his breath and moves his glass so it covers part of his face, he can hear the man's boots as the clomp on the floor, loud, obnoxious and echoing on the sandstone walls.

He can’t bring himself to breath, he keeps his gaze focused on the table till he hears a chair pull up as the man lowers himself onto a bar stool and the chatter of the bar resumes.

He feels Karl’s worried eyes on his face.

“Gods 404, what the honk did you get yourself into?” Karl’s voice wasn’t mocking or mean, but instead it was gentle and soothing. He seemed to notice George's stiff reaction, and anyone could guess by the green man's bulking straps of ranging weaponry what he was here to do.

“I told you we got into some rough business didn’t I?” He mutters and glances at his cracked watch, the sooner his contact could get here the better.

“When you said rough business, I didn’t think you meant ‘pay with your life’ business.” 

George shakes his head and takes a wary glance at the bounty hunter, who's still sitting at the bar. “Neither did I, but I’ve slipped through his fingers one to many times. I think he’s growing frustrated.” 

“And what about your friend? You’ll need help if you’re going to get him out while that guy’s on your tail.” 

Karl was right, it would be almost impossible to do it alone, even with his contact it would still be a challenge.

“Are you asking to help me or are you saying you’re going to anyway?” George pushes his bottle further away from his face so he can get a better look at the two sitting opposite, he wanted to know if they were sincere.

“We’re saying you have the cash, and we have the help.” Quackity pokes a finger towards Georges pocket, “we don’t know your occupation but it seems to get you quite the wage. So if you pay up, we’ll help you get your friend outta here.”

It was a fair deal, a very fair deal. But it’s not like he had much choice anyway, at this point it was either leave Sapnap and fend off the hunter alone, or pay up and possibly succeed. It didn’t take him long to spot the better option.

“You hold your end of the deal and I’ll pay up full,” He slides two gold tokens to each of the boys, who both give him devilish grins. “Half now, half later. I need to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain.” 

“You got our word 404, Quackity here has quite the knife skills.” Karl shoves at his friend, who laughs and pokes at his ribs, causing Karl to squeal and shuffle away in defeat.

“Well if you’re going to help,” George glances again at his watch, which lights up a pale blue as a message appears on his screen. “I guess I better tell you the plan.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Frozen In Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans and bloodshed.  
> TW//// graphic violence and blood. Quite a lot of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art is here! @Z01N_ on Twitter, she is so wonderful zoin my beloved.

The plan goes like this.

George tells his contact to ready a ship for them and to keep his eyes open for any more possible trouble. He tells him to wait outside the door of the east wing, which as Karl tells George, seems to be the closest exit to Sapnaps frozen statue.

Quackity’s good with most weapons, but knives are his strong suit. He can slice through almost anything, this is what George learns after a few demonstrations when Quackity shows him a collection of _very_ sharp knives he keeps tucked into a shoe. He’s appointed Georges backup fighter for the mission, tasked to take care of any opposing guards that stand in their way.

Karl, much to George's disbelief, seems to have a surprising skill of stealth and agility, much similar to George's own talent of blending in with the shadows. That in itself sprouts curiosity in George's head, he wonders where Karl learned such skills so similar to his own. The brunet decides to question that later, information about Karl’s surprising abilities can wait longer than Sapnap. 

Karl’s skills earn him the place of what Quackity calls, ‘ _The watcher’._ He is to hide in the dark corners of the tavern and scout for the bounty hunter, alerting George and Quackity with a small flick of his hand if he sees the green man approaching.

They spend an extra twenty minutes scouring over each detail of the rescue plan while sparing quick glances at the bounty hunter, who still sits stiffly at the bar.

The three boys share a look and all simultaneously nod in agreement, carefully shifting from their chairs and walking as quietly as possible to the left corridor exit. George let's Quackity lead the way while Karl trails behind, ready to take his post. 

“It's right at the end of that long hallway, and before you say anything don’t worry, you can definitely see me,” Karl whispers in a rushed breath, they had to be as quick as possible. “You’ll find yourself in a sandstone room with a red curtain drawn on the side. Your friends’ behind there.”

George flashes him a quick smile and a thumbs up. Karl takes his post behind a pillar and watches as Quackity and George rush down his recommended route.

Heavy breaths and muffled footprints fill the hallway as Quackity and George sprint through it. George’s leather boots make small thumps as they run, and he watches as Quackity reaches up a hand and frantically pulls his beanie further down on his head, it had grown loose in their rapid run.

The room is fast approaching and looks to be small. George can already see the rosy red curtain and the gold links that keep it clasped to the pole that threads tidily into the wall, which is painted a deep, thirsty royal blue.

The sight makes George’s chest burn, it makes his toes curl in anger and a sick rise from his stomach. Quackity had drawn back the red silk, it pulls away with a loud squeak as metal on metal grinds together. 

How fucking dare they, how dare they hang up his best friend like a piece of goddamn artwork in a museum. George wanted to shout, he wanted to scream his anger out till his throat was red and raw and he could taste the iron of his own blood in his mouth. He partially blamed himself you see, he felt selfish for running away without Sapnap and saving his own life instead of helping his friend. George's chest was tight with growing thick guilt, it crawled up his skin like ivy, it grips at every bone in his body and spreads through his veins, pooling in a deep pit around his heart.

It was the truth, George was selfish. He let Sapnap take a hit for him so he could escape, he left Sapnap to freeze on his own, scared and desperate and lonely.

_Selfish, selfish, selfish._

The carbonite is black and bumpy, it’s cool and rough against George’s fingertips. He trails his hand upwards on the stoney substance but pauses when he’s met with a large shape. George almost sobs at the sight of his friend; Sapnaps face is full of frozen fear, his eyes are wide with mid moment shock and he has one hand extended out from the stone, as if he had reached out in a last begging plea to save himself.

The brunet lets his fingers interlock with Sapnaps frozen, outstretched ones. He leans his head against his cold chest and sighs into the statue, “We’re getting you out of here okay?” He whispers into the stone, unaware of Quackity shifting impatiently on his feet behind him. “I wasn’t there for you last time but-,” he chokes on his words. When Sapnap wakes up, he’s going to say so many sorry’s. “-but I’m here now, and I promise I won’t be leaving you again.” 

Slowly removing and unlacing his fingers with his friends, George steps back and shoots Quackity a quick, apologetic smile.

There’s a small keypad on the left side of the wall, it has two buttons, one orange and one a plain, blinking white. George’s hands trace carefully over the buttons, he hopes that pressing the wrong one won’t do anything bad.

There’s a sudden, loud thump as something heavy hits the ground.

“404!” George whips around to see Karl shouting as Quackity’s wrestled to the floor, the sound of a heavy breath as his guard is bodied into the hard stone. 

“It’s him 404, it’s the hunter!” Karl shouts, he’s sprawled sideways on the stone, his head has a large scratch by his right ear from the fall and his purple cotton shirt is smeared with dark patches that doesn’t take long for George’s brain to register as blood, Karl’s own blood. His face looks bruised and his nose is coated in fresh, dripping red liquid, most likely a consequence of getting punched in the face.

A knife is brought down fast, aiming straight for Quackity's shoulder, he pulls his body to the side just in time as the tip of the knife wedges itself into the stone. Quackity writhes underneath the bounty hunters firm grip, he holds both of his own knives in his hands, slashing them wildly in front if his face in an effort to scare him off.

Georges eyes flick back to the buttons on the keypad, the quicker they get Sapnap out the quicker they can get the fuck away from this guy. 

He hears an agonising yell from the floor, followed by Karl shouting Quackitys name. In a hurried panic George slaps his entire palm flat onto both the buttons, praying and hoping that the entire thing wouldn’t completely shut down. 

Much to Georges relief, the black stone seems to melt away, it drips from Sapnaps shape like hot liquorice until a very solid Sapnap drops like a cut log right into Georges open arms. But there’s no time to breathe a sigh yet, as soon as the relieving moment starts, it ends with a sharp pain in his shoulder and an arm wrapped around his neck, forcing him to drop Sapnap as he’s dragged backwards. 

George chokes as he tries to push himself away, but a warm breath tickles his ear that makes his body shiver with terror. 

He’d been caught.

“Didn’t think I wouldn’t recognise you with that little disguise,” the voice growls into his neck, the hairs on George's arms rise as he attempts to take a breath. “Didn’t think I wouldn’t notice your charred jacket and your bloody little shoulder? I’m not stupid 404.” George tries to kick at the guy behind him, but the hunter only pulls him closer against his front. George is beginning to choke, his vision fades, it’s blurry as he drifts in and out of consciousness. He tries to breath, but his windpipe feels flat and his mouth is dry and tasteless. He feels faint as the strong arm around his neck tightens and he plummets into black.

_I’m here, I'm here, I'm here._

_George’s frantic fingers attack his ship's keypad, his heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest as his stomach flips in fear. He keeps his eyes open wide, the control panel emergency alarm flashes red. George is sure he’s going to die in an explosion of black smoke and orange, searing flames._

_I’m here, I'm here, I'm here._

_A voice whispers in his head, if the noises of the plummeting craft were any louder, George isn’t sure he would have heard it at all, but it’s there. Right on the edge of his farthest forgotten thoughts, it’s there. It’s warm and comforting, it steddies his frantic heart and clears his head of clouding worries. It helps him take a breath, even if it’s one polluted with smoke._

_Let me help you George, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here._

_So George lets it help, he pulls the presence of the voice right to the front of his mind, just as his ship hits the ground. He finds himself not in an explosion of black smoke and orange, searing flames but instead still in his pilot seat, the ship half torn apart and the left wing is snapped and bent upward, but he’s otherwise alive._

George doesn’t know quite what the voice is yet, but last time he let it help it saved his life. And curiously, here it is again. Just as George's lungs feel like they’re going to give way and collapse, the voice is back and it whispers in his head.

_I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Let me help you._

So he does, his eyes snap open and he brings the force forward again. It feels different this time, instead of the presence just being around him it feels as if it’s everywhere. It feels like it’s become his heart, with each hurried beat the force flows through his veins and runs like liquid gold under his skin, warm and comforting and glowing brightly behind his eyes.

George feels powerful. George feels like he’s not going to die.

The bounty hunter flies backwards off of George and smacks head first Into the stone wall with an echoing thump, his head hangs low against his chest and his back slumps into a slouchy, rag doll sitting position against the pillar. He’s knocked out cold.

Crawling weakly forwards, still gulping mouthfuls of fresh air and taking long rasping breaths, George hurriedly wraps his arms around Sapnaps stiff figure. George’s heart flips for a moment when he wonders if Sapnaps dead, he makes no clear movements, and George would’ve probably been certain he was if it wasn’t for the small shaking fingers that lay by his side and the very small, but very there shivering breaths that escape his pink lips.

George would’ve sobbed if his throat wasn’t so sore, and if his eyes didn’t already sting from the wateriness that seemed to be an after effect of being nearly choked to death. Instead, he settles to pressing his forehead against his best friend's cold chest, the ringing in his ears slowly begins to subside when George wraps his fingers once again in Sapnaps own as he tries to steady them. 

And gods, was Sapnap cold. The carbonite seemed to have a very dramatic, chilling after effect that left Sapnap as solid and as low temperatured as an ice cube. So George pulls off his slightly burnt, slightly ripped leather jacket, hissing as his crash-burnt shoulder brushes harshly against it when he removes the item and wraps it around Sapnaps shivering shoulders.

Muffled cries and pain-filled groans make their way to George's ears, now the deafeningly loud ringing had subsided he could finally hear the other noises around him. George drags Sapnap slowly along the floor with him, towards the sounds that he now recognised to be Karl’s worried cries and Quackitys painful groans.

The sight is pretty damn horrific, it’s a mess of blood and tears and bruises that litter both of the boys faces. Karl’s hunched over Quackity, who lays in a rather uncomfortable looking position on the floor, his beanie cast aside. Blood pools in a large red oval around his head, which drips from a very large gash that leads from the top of his forehead and runs right down the left side of his face to his jaw, it seems to have sliced his eye right open in the process.

“Shit. Shit, shit, fuck, shit!” George squeaks as he carefully lowers Sapnap next to Quackity and reaches out with now trembling hands to run his fingers gently through the bleeding boy's hair. 

He hadn’t known him for long, it had only been a mere few hours, but he was bubbly and funny and very outspoken. George would have highly considered befriending the guy if the circumstances would have allowed him, Karl too for that matter, they seemed like the type of people Sapnap would get along with well.

“Is he alive?” He rasps between breaths, eyes flicking nervously towards Karl, who nods quickly.

“He is, but he’s losing blood fast, we gotta get ‘em to the extraction ship before that green clothed dude wakes up again.” His voice cracks with worry and his tears leave snail trails down his rosy flushed cheeks.

Georges eyebrows furrow as he turns his head to look at the bounty hunter, who lays in a crumpled heap against a sandstone pillar, a small trail of blood trickles down his mask. George nods, “Definitely, but we can’t carry them both back ourselves.” He pulls his wrist up to his face and squints his watery eyes down at the watch screen, typing away on the messages. “I’ll ask my contact to come help us carry them onto the ship, they'll get the extra payment later.” 

He hears Karl breathe a little sigh of relief at his words and begins helping Karl lift Quackity, but it’s hard when the blood leaking from the boys head just won’t stop. George's hands become sticky and wet with it. It coats both his and Karl’s shirts from purple and blue to matching shades of deep red.

They take it in turns pulling them through the corridors and towards the exit, switching between Sapnap and Quackity. When they reach the archway that leads back outside onto the sand, they rest the boys backs against the outside wall and settle themselves beside them.

The air is warmer out here, and by this time all three of them are covered to some degree in blood. Sapnap has it on the back of his legs and on his torso, probably from being dragged through the trail of it that Quackity left behind when they’d pulled him.

There’s so much of it in fact, that George finds he can’t smell anything else. The smell makes George queasy, and by the look on Karl’s face, it seems to be having the same effect on him too. He can taste it as well, everytime he takes a breath, it’s like it’s contaminated the air with it's wretched sweet scent of old rusted iron and wavering death.

Death, because looking at Karl’s best friend now, his skin looks worryingly paler than before, it no longer holding it's warm, former glow but now appears to be patched and crusted with new and old blood, it drips from his chin and soaks into the sand. Quackity was teetering on the edge of death, and it wasn't hard to see. The evidence of it was clear all around them, it stained their clothes and their fingers, it lay in long painted red trails along the floor and in dark handprints on the cream walls. The evidence of it lay on his torn open face and his now ruined eye, it rests in Karl’s teary, flushed face and in the small whispers that escape his throat as he clings to his best friend's arm and sobs into his shoulder.

Guilt tugs at George's chest, the emotion of it pulls at his already thin heartstrings. He should have never have brought them into his mess, they had come to help him save his best friend, they weren’t supposed to lose another one in the process. If it was Sapnap laying there, face torn open and dying on the heated sand under the Tatooine sun rays, George probably would have stabbed himself already. It’s a horrific thought, and he shocks himself when he realises it, but George could hardly deal with the loss of Sapnap even when he knew he was alive. He doesn’t think he’d cope alone if he was actually dead, actually gone.

“I’m so sorry,” George chokes out, leaning forward to take Karl’s hand with what he hoped would be a reassuring squeeze. “I never meant for this to happen, and I wish I could tell you that he’s going to be fine. But by the look in your eyes I’m pretty sure you already know, and it wouldn’t be right to lie, not after all this.” 

George expects him to be mad, he himself certainly would be, the plan that had failed them had been his idea after all. But instead Karl gives George a small quivering smile, he seems to understand, “It's okay,” Karl whispers, staring down at Quackity’s face. He runs a careful hand along the uncut side of his friend’s jaw, wiping away some of the blood with his thumb. “We knew what we were getting into, we knew the possible consequences. We may not be the best fighters the alliance has to offer, but we do try. I know if Quackity was here-,” Karl falters on his words, he seems to realise his own slip and takes a gulp of guilty air as he holds back new forming tears. “-I know that when Quackity wakes up, he too will be glad we got your friend out.”

Quackity is still alive, but by the look of his closed eye, the blood, and his slowly fading pulse, both of the boys aren’t quite certain he’ll make it before the extraction ship arrives. If George was telling the truth, he really only expects him to last a few more minutes.

“Sapnap would’ve liked him, they would’ve got along well I think.” He rubs comforting circles into Karl’s shaking hand as he glances back at Sapnap, who still lays stiffly, but perfectly alive on the sand. “He’s going to like you too, even when he’s not conscious he seems to be able to pick my friends for me.” George says in a weighted, quiet laugh.

George has blood on his hands, and he wasn’t even the one to hold the knife.

Karl bites his lip, he doesn’t seem to have found the humour within George's words. The air is beginning to grow colder, and each breath Quackity takes is slower and farther spaced than the one before. 

The sound of an engine hums distantly in the background. George ignores it at first, he blames it on his tired mind and aching muscles. But then it grows louder and closer, loud enough to make George snap up straight and turn his head wildly around, hope rising in his chest. And close enough for him to finally spot it and breathe a heavy breath of relief as their extraction ship lands and his contact rushes out with a stretcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ay, please leave comments if there’s anything I’ve made a mistake on, also I’d love to hear what the speed of it sounds like. Tell me if it moves too fast or too slow.  
> Thanks for readin’ :)  
> My apologies for Quackity.


	3. Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small purple bird.
> 
> Karl battles with temporary grief, Sapnap focuses on recovery, and George doesn’t take sides.
> 
> KARL AND QUACKITY BACKSTORY ;)))
> 
> Slight tw// brief mention of alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a smaller chapter to help move the plot along but I got carried away lmao.
> 
> Three chapters and 1.1k reads, I’m speedrunning the ao3 algorithm.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, I love reading and replying to them :))
> 
> Zoin returns with HOT ART.

It takes three days for Karl to stop crying. 

George felt like he had already drowned in the tears, the ship was heavy with temporary grief. 

A full day after George’s contact, Bad, had shut the door on himself and Quackity, locking them away in the ships infirmary, he’d essentially locked George  _ outside _ the infirmary with Karl.

Karl, who worried, Karl who  _ still _ worries.

George definitely doesn’t blame him though, he knows what it’s like to be worried for a friend.

George sat by Sapnaps bedside for hours when he came back, he’d wrapped him up in thick blankets and surrounded him in warm, flickering candles. The hurt was knee deep, and the swirling guilt and unshed tears that pricked at the corners of his ebony eyes left tugging sorrow in his chest. But still amongst all that, the relief of seeing his friend safe was more overpowering than any other emotion. George swore to himself that he would stay right here till he woke up, he wasn’t there for him when he was put into the carbon hibernation, but he sure as hell wanted to be there for him when he came out of it. 

He would finally be the help that Sapnap’s statue had been reaching out for.

Surprisingly, when Sapnap awoke, his hibernation sickness that resulted from the deep sleep didn’t last nearly as long as usually expected. George reckoned it was partially the help of the source stone, which he had re-looped around the boy's neck and now rested on his chest, rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. Sapnap however, had simply just brushed his opinion aside, he'd insisted instead that it was because he was just,  _ ‘too damn awesome and epic and strong.’ _

George had laughed at that, telling him with a humouring tone and a wide, grinning smile that he was a cocky idiot. It made some of his heavily hanging guilt melt away, and replaced it with a warm glow of fondness. The feeling was more foreign now than it used to be, but George was glad to welcome it back with an open heart and open arms.

It was nice now that they were back by each other’s side, joined at the hip again, like two peas in a pod. It didn’t take long for them to click back together, they fit perfectly into each other’s routines and sparked up their usual jokes like no time had passed between them at all. It was relieving to be normal again, even if it was only for a while.

Karl wasn’t so lucky.

The first night, Karl had cried himself sick, he’d cried so much he threw up all over the chess table, chest heaving and throat raw and scratchy. His mouth had been infected with the taste of blood, vomit and stomach acid. Temporary worry was making him ill, tired and malnourished.

After Sapnap had recovered and warmed up, he too had tried to help the grieving boy. He had always ran like a heater, especially after finding the fire source stone. But of course that only made him warmer, so George had guessed that Karl had found the warmth rather comforting while he cried, to have a sort of abnormally heated human hugging your shoulders while you nearly sobbed yourself to death. But alas, not even his permanently warm hugs seemed to comfort Karl enough to stop the tears.

The second night, George had walked in on Karl sitting in the ship’s cooking area with distant, glazed over eyes and a glass of whiskey in hand, swaddled in a large, bright blue shirt that George was rather certain wasn’t Karl’s at all.

He’d pried the alcohol off him, telling him that this wasn’t the way to deal with things, and that Quackity definitely wouldn’t want him to do that to himself. Karl’s drunkenness didn't mix well with his sadness, he hadn’t uttered a single word to George after that. Instead, just stared at him with pained eyes and a tired frown, he’d turned around to walk back to his quarters, locking the door behind him, glass of whiskey still in hand.

George feared he had only made it worse.

He hadn’t seen Karl since, the only traces of his existence being the open, slowly-emptying fridge at midnight, and the smell of sick that sometimes lingered in the bathroom.

However, since the second night, neither George nor Sapnap found any new empty booze bottles littered on the countertops or hidden behind the blaster rack. Which of course, was a huge relief. Karl had obviously taken George’s small pep talk into account and had silently agreed to stop drinking.

—————

No one had heard any news from the infirmary room. George had found this incredibly unfair, especially on Karl, any update on his friends condition would definitely improve his mental state, even if it was just whether he was dead or alive.

On the third day, Bad had poked his head out of the medical door, and  _ finally, fucking finally,  _ allowed a one-at-a-time visitor rule. Relief had hit George faster than a moving starship ever could, Karl’s condition had recently reached a point so bad that he’d run out of tears, caused by dehydration or tiredness George wasn’t certain, but he was bloody glad it was over.

Three days of tears. 

  
  


Karl has gone first of course, he had the first right to see his best friend after Quackitys near knock on death's door. They hadn’t heard anything about his well-being since Bad had rushed him into the medical wing and insisted no one enter. Karl, who had suffered and expected the worst from this outcome, was of course going to go before. The other two; George and Sapnap, had tried to keep up hope the first few days in order to try and cheer him up, but even they had silently assumed Quackity was dead.

George didn’t have blood on his hands, Quackity was alive.

—————-

Karl.

The room is dark when Karl enters, his eyes still sting, but no tears seem to prick behind them like they did before. It’s a slightly relieving feeling knowing that he cried himself dry, it means his sore eyes can give themselves a break.

It means Karl can finally stop hurting.

He steps forward in the almost lightless room, a dim lamp sits on a bedside table in the corner, the light of which casts over a small shape spread lazily across the bed beside it, tucked up and swaddled in sheets like a baby duck in a nest of feathers.

Karl creeps closer, it's quiet in here, each careful footstep he takes echoes around the room. The silence is eerily daunting and a previously missed tension seems to be building up in his chest, it wraps a strong hand around his heart and squeezes, he feels like it might choke him when he reaches the bed and peers down at the bundled shape.

So maybe Karl wasn’t done hurting, but he was close.

———— Little Karl.————

_ “Hey,” a warm hand ghosts just past his shoulder, the boy turns around, eyes glassy and nose runny. He quickly wipes away the tears with his green cotton shawl and tries to sniff the snot back up his nose. _

_ “Hello?” He replies shortly. Little Karl’s gaze rests on the stranger in front of him, he has dark raven hair that runs down his neck and pools at his shoulders, slightly scruffy and unkept. Karl thinks it suits him, Karl thinks he looks a lot like he could be some cool adventurer who rides in starships just like his pa’ used to do. The stranger looks about his age, his shirt is a bright shade of blue and much too big for him. Karl doesn’t think he’s seen a colour so bright in a while. _

_ “You’re crying dude, I saw you from my window.” The dark haired boy shuffles in his black, worn boots, Karl watches with watery eyes as the sand shifts under the soles. He looks back up and frowns. _

_ The stranger bites nervously at the inside of his cheek, and winces when he accidentally draws blood. _

_ “Not crying, just got sand in my eye.” Karl sniffs. _

_ “You’re lying, my ma’ says it’s not good to lie,” The boy slumps down to sit in the sand next to Karl and buries his tan fingers in the small rough grains, “so tell me why you’re crying, why are you so sad?”  _

_ Karl hesitantly holds out a pair cupped hands and offers them over to the boy. Small, dainty, soft feathers brush against his fingers as he opens them up to show. A small bird, maybe just the size of a bottle cap, lays in his palm, stiff and unresponsive, it’s beak is a fluorescent shade of pink, and it has little rounded purple feathers with tips of jade green. It’s absolutely gorgeous, but in all the time the other boy stares at it with wide eyes, it doesn’t move a muscle, not even a small twitch of a wing catches his eye. _

_ “Oh,” the other boy breathes, his voice hitches when he speaks and his eyes swim with pity. “I’m sorry, what was its name?”  _

_ “Lucy,” Karl croaks, “she was a very nice bird.” _

_ “Hey, hey there it’s okay.”  _

_ Tears start to form in Karl’s eyes again, he bites back a sob as his heart clenches in his chest. He feels worn and tired out, emotionally and physically exhausted from the Tatooine heat and the heart strain. _

_ Lucy had indeed been a very nice bird, she had come into Karl’s life so suddenly, appearing first at his window a few months ago. He had thought her a big bug at first and had opened his window in order to flick it away, but had stopped when it hopped onto the back of his hand and looked up at him with its rounded dark black eyes, cocking her head slightly to the side. _

_ Karl had fed her the crumbs of his breakfast toast, he’d made her a small bed out of old socks and napkins on his desk. She seemed to stick around after that, she’d sit on Karl’s shoulder while he worked on the staff he’d been making, occasionally nipping gently at his ear when she wanted to eat. _

_ Karl didn’t know where she had come from, perhaps that’s why she was so magical to him. There had never been many colourful things on a planet like Tatooine, everything’s usually dry and sun bleached, void of anything extraordinary or exciting. _

_ Lucy had been the only colourful thing that Karl had ever really seen, and now she was gone. Karl had thought he would be going back to living in grey, but here is a stranger sitting next to him with careful, kind eyes and a stunningly blue shirt.  _

_ Maybe the colour would stick around. _

_ “Don’t cry,” the boy whispers in his ear, “we can bury her if you like? Would you want her to be buried?”  _

_ Karl nods slowly and closes his cupped hands, if he wanted to bury Lucy, he wanted her feathers to be bright. He covers her from the bleaching suns. _

_ He spends the next half an hour with a stranger, a sapphire shirted boy with long black hair and warm, sun kissed skin. They make Lucy a magnificent grave, even if it is in the sand, taking it in turns to collect shimmering white stones and laying them in a square shape around where she's buried . Karl tugs off his green shawl and places it carefully next to the grave. His tears have stopped, he stands in the sand and smiles down at the stones and his shawl. _

_ “What’s your name?”  _

_ “Karlos, but Karl’s just fine.” _

_ “Okay Karl, I’m Quackity.” _

_ “Thank you, Quackity.” _

_ “Anytime, Karl.” _

_ They lace their fingers together and smile at the sun. _

_ ———— _ —

Quackity is taller now, though still smaller than his mousy haired friend. His hair is cut at his ears and his skin is slightly paler, but that’s probably just from the loss of blood. He still holds his attitude from childhood too, snappy and quick witted, but still kind and gentle when he wants to be.

There’s a lot Karl loves about Quackity, he’s glad it didn’t slip away, they changed so much and so little; Quackity is still the colour in Karl’s life, and he still dresses like a parrot.

But looking at him now, wrapped in a variety of medical supplies and smelling extremely strongly of disinfectants, he looks everything but colourful.

Karl brings a careful hand up to Quackitys bandaged cheek, runs it gently across. It ghosts over the fabric, barely even making contact, there are small red roses that blossom underneath where the blood dots the bandages. He then traces his fingers down to his jaw and across the various scars and bruises that litter his neck.

As he does, a hand reaches out from under the birds nest of blankets and laces it’s fingers together with Karl’s.

“You nimrod,” Karl whispers, he can feel his throat tighten. “You complete and utter nimrod Quackity.”

The blankets shake slowly, and a slightly croaky chuckle escapes the bandages boys lips.

“I like your shirt asshole.”

Karl smiles and looks down at the bright sapphire blue and their intertwined fingers, “Thanks.”

Recovery is slow, and healing takes time.

  
  


——————

  
  


Bad slides a beige folder across the table towards George, who takes it with gracious, careful fingers. The paper inside is precious and confidential—it’s the empire information he’s payed Bad good money to get— it’s also his and Sapnap’s few months worth of supplies once they get it to the alliance.

George runs his fingers along the pages, the words seem to be in some sort of code or language that he himself cannot read. The paper rustles under his hands as he flips through the multiple sheets, his eye occasionally catching the name of a place or planet he recognises, but other than that, he understands nothing. 

George breathes a small sigh of irritation, they were all risking their lives having this small folder onboard the ship, and the alliance still has the audacity to request it in code; something they probably know George can’t read. Even if he’s not on any particular side, the war still exists, and it affects him just as much as the rest of them.

_ Selfish pricks, _ George thinks as he closes the folder and moves it to the side. All the work he and Sapnap had done for them and they couldn’t even get a single sliver of information for themselves.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bad says, the pity that lingers in his eyes makes George blink away. “You can’t blame them George, you work for both sides, they worry you’ll snitch.”

George scoffs,  _ as if _ he would do such a thing, the thought in itself was embarrassing. It was the truth that he does jobs for both the empire and the alliance, but he didn’t stoop so low as to snitch, doing so would lose him his job and money. George was good at what he did, and he prided himself in it. “I don’t work like that, the information I receive is strictly confidential. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to snitch?” 

Bad quickly shakes his head, “George no, you know that I don’t think that of you. The alliance knows there’s people like me, the empire has spies just as much as the alliance does. You can’t hold it against them, don’t take it personally.”

“I know,” George slumps his tensed shoulders, the slight ache from his healing burn eases. “But I’m sick of being left out of it all. One or these days I’m going to get caught up in this whole mess and it’s going to have an impact on my life, on  _ Sapnaps _ life. I want to know what I’m up against.” 

The humming of the ship's engine mixes with the thoughtful tapping of Bads fingers as they drum against the metal edge of the table. 

“There is a way you could have that information, George,” Bad looks at George exactly the way he hates. George knows where this conversation is leading, he doesn’t like it at all.

“Absolutely not, you know that’s not my style, I don’t trust either of them.”

“But you’ve said it yourself! You need to know what you’re up against. We both know this Star war is only going to get worse from here, the rebel alliance could use someone with piloting skills like yours.” Bad Leans slightly closer, George can feel his warm breath by his cheek. 

“Plus, Karl told me about what you did to that bounty hunter George, you’re a force sensitive! Do you realise how rare those are?” George can’t help but turn away, the thought of using that newfound presence makes something inside him itchy and restless. “I know some people who could help you. With the right force training,” Bad continues, “and mixed with your piloting ability, you could be a great help for our side. You have untapped, absolutely amazing potential to help this war George, I just know it!”

_ Our side?  _ “Our side?” George questions with narrowed eyes. His voice is snappy and frustrated, he’s had multiple similar conversations with Bad about joining the alliance before, and it always seems to end the same. “I don’t know how you seem to forget  _ every  _ time Bad, but me and Sapnap are neutral. That’s how it’s always been for us, and that’s how it’s going to stay. We work better on our own, I’m sure we can find information somewhere other than the alliance. You said it yourself, there are more people like  _ you _ .”

Sure, the look on Bad’s face made him feel a little harsh for snapping. But George was his own responsibility, he didn’t need advice, only help. As for the news on being force sensitive, if it was a permanent thing, it means he’s dealt with it his whole life. He can deal a little longer. 

The drumming of Bad's fingers stops, George finds it in himself to face him again. 

“So tell me, since that’s what I’m paying you for, where else can I get information,” He pauses, reassessing his assets before adding, “and a new ship?”

———————

“And you’re sure there’s nowhere else?” George leans forward, elbows resting on the rounded table in the ship's centre room, “you’re sure there’s not somewhere that’s not basically a trading hotspot where we can pick up another ship? You know, maybe somewhere I don’t know,  _ less obvious?” _

Bad sighs and shakes his head, he tugs at the striking black hood that drapes over his face, it drops to his shoulders gracefully, revealing dark skin, raven hair and eyes of piercing white. “Sometimes obviously is less obvious, people won’t expect you to be right out in the open. And besides, it’s the largest trading post in the galaxy, it’s not like it won’t have any hiding spots.”

George worries his bottom lip between his teeth. It was definitely risky, but Bad wasn’t wrong when he said it was large, there definitely would be places to hide amongst all the stalls, storage cupboards and ship rubble that’s usually heaped up in large piles for scrap sale. Plus, George has experience in this type of lifestyle from his and Sapnaps occupation, maybe Karl and Quackity might know a fair bit too. Although, Quackity definitely wasn’t in any current position to fight anytime soon.

With a thoughtful last glance at the hologram board that holds the coordinates to the trading post, George runs a stressed hand through this hair.

“fine, I’ll go brief the others.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayo, feel free to leave comments and kudos I love hearing feedback and constructive criticism.
> 
> Also here’s my HOT ARTISTS Instagram: @ zoin.arts

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave opinions, comments and kudos! all constructive criticism is a joy to receive as it only helps improve.  
> SOCIALS:  
> ARTIST: @Z01N_ on Twitter and @zoin.arts on Instagram  
> WRITER: @grakkuk_ or honkgrass_ on twitter


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